The fellow was as good as his word, and the skipper demanded the watch as pay for Eric’s feed, for he maintained that he’d done no work, and was perfectly useless.  Eric, grown desperate, still refused, and the man struck him brutally on the face, and at the same time aimed a kick at him, which he vainly tried to avoid.  It caught him on the knee-cap, and put it out, causing him the most excruciating agony.

He now could do no work whatever, not even swab the deck.  It was only with difficulty that he could limp along, and every move caused him violent pain.  He grew listless and dejected, and sat all day on the vessel’s side, eagerly straining his eyes to catch any sight of land, or gazing vacantly into the weary sameness of sea and sky.

Once, when it was rather gusty weather, all hands were wanted, and the skipper ordered him to furl a sail.

“I can’t,” said Eric, in an accent of despair, barely stirring, and not lifting his eyes to the man’s unfeeling face.

“Can’t, d——­ you.  Can’t.  We’ll soon see whether you can or no!  You do it, or I shall have to mend your leg for you;” and he showered down a storm of oaths.

Eric rose, and resolutely tried to mount the rigging, determined at least to give no ground he could help to their wilful cruelty.  But the effort was vain, and with a sharp cry of suffering he dropped once more on deck.

“Cursed young brat!  I suppose you think we’re going to bother ourselves with you, and yer impudence, and get victuals for nothing.  It’s all sham.  Here, Jim, tie him up.”

A stout sailor seized the unresisting boy, tied his hands together, and then drew them up above his head, and strung them to the rigging.

“Why didn’t ye strip him first, d——­ you?” roared the skipper.

“He’s only got that blue shirt on, and that’s soon mended,” said the man, taking hold of the collar of the shirt on both sides, and tearing it open with a great rip.

Eric’s white back was bare, his hands tied up, his head hanging, and his injured leg slightly lifted from the ground.  “And now for some rope-pie for the stubborn young lubber,” said the skipper, lifting a bit of rope as he spoke.

Eric, with a shudder, heard it whistle through the air, and the next instant it had descended on his back with a dull thump, rasping away a red line of flesh.  Now Eric knew for the first time the awful reality of intense pain; he had determined to utter no sound, to give no sign; but when the horrible rope fell on him, griding across his back, and making his body literally creak under the blow, he quivered like an aspen-leaf in every limb, and could not suppress the harrowing murmur, “Oh God, help me, help me.”

Again the rope whistled in the air, again it grided across the boy’s naked back, and once more the crimson furrow bore witness to the violent laceration.  A sharp shriek of inexpressible agony rang from his lips, so shrill, so heart-rending, that it sounded long in the memory of all who heard it.  But the brute who administered the torture was untouched.  Once more, and again, the rope rose and fell, and under its marks the blood first dribbled, and then streamed from the white and tender skin.